


Run from me, darling

by Exces_KaboomBOOM



Series: TMA: Bilingual Edition [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: As happy as it can get between two Desolation avatars, F/F, Monsters in love, Romance, poetic af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exces_KaboomBOOM/pseuds/Exces_KaboomBOOM
Summary: Agnes and Jude share an intimate moment, a night when the sky is blooming with fiery colors and the world leave them alone.





	Run from me, darling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuttooth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/gifts).



> Here I present to you all my first, ever, bilingual story! Double the work, double the nonsensical poetry, but it’s fascinating to go from one to another to find the most perfect sentence. Story heavily inspired by the song _Wicked Game!_  
>  Proof-read by the super talented [cuttooth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth)!!

**_Quelle méchante chose à dire_ **

A fire lays on the edge of the horizon. It breathes pink clouds of heavy steam, stitched into the sky like tapestries of bad omens. Its aura is pure red, the only color able to travel far enough to meet it at the end of the world.

This mirage is named Agnes. She is the exact image of a thousand burning cities. When Jude holds her gaze for too long, her eyes begin to water. Agnes is a lightless sun, as hot as a star. She is the blur hovering over melting summer roads. Her scent has notes of coal and burnt weeds.

Agnes can annihilate as much as an atomic bomb with only a look. Jude, on the other side, needs to hurt far more than required; she can melt anyone with a touch, but then how would she feel the delight of a body losing its form under her fists, until it is one with the muddy ground?

Opposites attract. So does light to moths. They are both predators, in their own separate ways. _This is what true love is,_ Jude thinks, but she suspects Agnes doesn’t share the sentiment. 

“I want to see you rule the world,” Jude admits, one of many nights where they get lost in the overwhelming swarm of the drunken city. Agnes likes to wander wherever she pleases, because she knows Jude will always follow her. They could live without eachother, but why would they do that? 

Jude knows she loves Agnes in a more literal sense than Agnes does her. Not that Agnes loves her less… They live in different realms of reality; they do not share the same concerns nor the same dreams. Agnes wonders what it must have felt like, to live as a human and then join their Entity. She only ever knew the Desolation living inside her guts, violent and greedy — her only survival instinct. 

“So you can rule it by my side?” Agnes bites back, used by now to Jude’s strange devotion towards her. 

Jude stays silent but smiles knowingly. 

That night, they are enjoying the Thames aboard a floating restaurant. They are exchanging words on the main deck, while the clients eating inside do not suspect their presence nor their own threatened mortality. Jude watches Agnes, while Agnes lets her eyes wander to the night sky. It's spotted with orange ghostly clouds created by the city’s lights, pollution and stars almost invisible compared to the brightness of the living. The river pushes foul rotten smells into their faces, and the wind is strong around them despite the low speed of their movement.

It's an odd romantic display, but only because it’s a small fragment of a big, luxurious tale of hidden meetings, decades dedicated to learning and nightmares given as farewell kisses. (Many have collected the mark of the prophet’s lips on their cheek, their hand or their mouth.)

Agnes is never cold; she is searing and morose, often clothed in the same dark crimson dress, complimenting her curly auburn hair that dances in the rotten waters’ breeze. She gives off the scent of a pyre, tonight; maybe she has partaken in some rituals during the day, leaving small ashes of incinerated death all over her face and eyelashes. Jude dreams of tasting those slivers of murder on her skin, but she would never force it. Agnes doesn’t like to be touched, so she is the only one to initiate any physical contact. Not that Jude is afraid of trickling between her fingers — she’d love to be a candle spilled at her feet — but those are their boundaries, and she ought to respect them. She’s only ever respected Agnes, in the end. 

Agnes learned to compromise in return; she allows herself to be held when the night is at its darkest, so dark the Dark itself is almost around the corner. These are the only moments when her own vulnerability doesn’t scare her, because no Entity can truly see them — and she is not disturbed by the little Peeping Tom vermins of the Magnus Archives. But she is afraid of being selfish, because she wasn’t born to be a person. She is a weapon at the hand of a higher power, with thousands of names but no face. She wishes she hadn’t been conceived by any woman, so that her own curiosity would not run to humanity everyday, and she has the suspicion that it is exactly what will cause the end of her.

Jude doesn’t want to hear a word about that, so Agnes doesn’t speak about it. It will be a surprise. Agnes hopes they will meet again in another life, or in another form. 

She still doesn’t grasp the reasons you’d create a messiah able to feel emotions. She has been damned from the beginning because of that mistake… She prays that whoever follows in her steps will never have to bear that burden running, drop by drop, in the tender of their guts, bursting their beliefs like abscesses covered by a swathe of lava.

The night is beautiful. She is peaceful. The silence reassures Agnes, which makes Jude happy. These moments cost them both a lot, and they are worth every sacrifice made for them to happen. 

“Do you sometimes think that loving me will lead to your death?” 

“Oh, of course,” Jude replies without hesitation, “But I wouldn’t be on your side if I wasn’t living for danger, loss and destruction. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed about.”

Agnes didn’t know what kind of answer she was ready for, but it was none of that for sure. Tears come to her eyes, tiny rubies of blood and fire, leaving burn marks on her cheeks when they fall. 

“I wish I knew how to blubber so prettily,” Jude laughs. She loses a finger when collecting one of the blazing pearls off Agnes’ neck. The two women are trembling, overtaken by sweats and fever. The kind of poems you could write about such miracles of women...

“It’s time to go to bed, sweetheart. The dawn always shines more brightly in the first hours of the day, and it’d be sad to miss you.”

Agnes laughs whole-heartedly, relieved to be treated more like a loved woman, and less like an unworthy idol. She doesn’t dare reply, nods in agreement, and sets fire to the boat with only a glance. The fast heat melts the doorknobs of the restaurant and its clients are trapped in this preview of hell, their voices rising loud and far into the uncaring city.

The two women quit the ship only when it starts to sink. Agnes kisses Jude, skinning her lips into a warmed wax grimace, and wonders what taste kisses have, between skins of lukewarm blood. Jude smiles as much as she can, and Agnes forgets the idea, lost once more in eyes that remind her of the comfort of a fireplace. _Still a little bit more,_ she thinks, _let me take her in a little while longer._

Only the night sky acknowledges her, ignoring their embrace. They are alone in the world for a whole minute. 

It feels divine. 


End file.
